


Medicine for a wounded heart

by SiwgrGalon



Series: Light a match, ignite a bomb-verse [3]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Best Friends, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Families of Choice, Fluff (if you squint), Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Supportive Friendship, Supportive Relationship, honesty hour, mcpriceley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:24:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: In which, a week after he was released from hospital, Connor and Poptarts have a much needed heart to heart.    When the shell finally cracks, and the first traces of sadness fall onto pale cheeks, Chris is sure the sound of his heart starting to break reverberates through the entire building.  ‘Oh, gosh, Connor,’ he whispers, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears as it carries his inner turmoil into the world.  ‘Come here.’  In three steps, the blond has crossed the distance between the two men and circles his arm around the former District Leader. The height difference, albeit just a few inches, makes the whole affair a bit awkward, but it’ll do.Can be read as stand alone or part of the series.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of suicidal ideation, discussions of mental health issues (mainly depression).

The first thing he notices when the alarm rings is the warmth encasing him, the feeling of skin on skin, of soft breath whispering through his hair.

With his head cushioned on his partner’s chest, an arm slung around the other’s waist, Connor doesn’t need to open his eyes to know Kevin is already wide awake, has probably been for a considerable amount of time. The young man’s breath and the faintly audible beat of his heart are indicator enough.

‘Good morning.’ Kevin’s voice is low, and Connor basks in its warmth for a second before responding in kind.

‘Good nap?’

The redhead just nods, burrowing deeper as he presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s – fiancé, he corrects himself, his fiancé’s – skin. Kevin is warm and naked and still smells faintly of last night’s, and this morning’s, antics. Despite the fog in his brain, and all the other confusing, upsetting things, it makes Connor feel safe and loved and at home. 

Even if he can’t appreciate it right now.

After Mrs Price had left, the couple had finally gotten the opportunity to celebrate their engagement. It had been the best day of the last seven since he got out of hospital, Connor muses in the silence, so it was only right it found a good end.

The sex had been nice, and not just because him and Kevin hadn’t really done more than kiss for nearly three weeks, two if you discounted that one attempt they never saw through. No, the rush, the closeness had, for the moment, cleared Connor’s head, made him feel something, everything. Like he mattered.

It had felt luxurious and hedonistic and just so right, he had wished it would never stop. They’d never stop.

This morning, in contrast, had been a slightly different story. Fuelled by the frantic desire to feel that rush again, to banish the numbness embracing him from the moment he woke up, there had been an unusual urgency to their coupling, a desperation Connor was nearly ashamed to admit to.

Kevin had been enthusiastic, too, although Connor suspected the blond hadn’t been all that sure what had hit him.

And who was he to deny his partner that blissful lack of knowledge? After all, had their roles been reversed, Connor wouldn’t have complained if his partner had crawled back into bed, half-naked and willing, for the third round in about 14 hours. After two weeks of forced abstinence.

‘How was your session?’ 

The question is so innocent, so full of genuine interest (and, luckily, lacking exaggerated concern); Connor has to swallow against the lump in his throat.

‘Okay, I think,’ he answers, absentmindedly running his hand along Kevin’s side. The feeling of soft, vulnerable skin beneath his fingertips is something to focus on, to take his mind out of its fogged up prison. 

‘It’s only been the second one, so… I don’t really know, but it was fine.’

That’s about as non-committal an answer as possible, Connor knows it is, but that’s all he has to offer right now. He could say ‘I don’t want to talk about it’, which would be true, but that would only make Kevin worry and ask questions.

Connor doesn’t want him to do either of those, waiting with bated breath for a reaction.

‘Want to tell me about it?’

‘Not particularly, no.’

It’s out before he can stop himself.

He doesn’t have it in him to feel guilt, right now, the morning having left him drained. But the former District Leader still raises himself onto his forearms, looking down into the other man’s face apologetically.

‘Sorry, it’s just…’

‘Bad day?’

In reaction to Connor’s nod, Kevin gently runs his hand through auburn hair, holding his partner’s gaze with his own.

‘It’s alright. You don’t have to explain, or talk, if you don’t feel up to it.’

A sweet kiss, and Connor lies down again, resting his head so he can hear Kevin’s heart beat its steady, calming rhythm. The hand in his hair never ceases, never stops.

‘Poptarts will be here soon,’ Kevin says.

‘Think a shower would make you feel a little better? Together?' 

Connor just nods. Despite feeling amazing last night, and the extra boost of an orgasm just after 9 this morning, he doesn’t have the energy to do much more.

‘Come on then.’

With that, Kevin sits up and carefully prompts Connor to follow. He feels mechanical, at times, only starting to break free when the combination of warm water, rising steam and Kevin’s gentle, yet firm, hands on his shoulders, his arms, his hips, kicks in. Connor makes sure to return the favor, running his palms over his partner’s smooth skin, over his muscles, all the while working up a soft lather.

It could be indecently erotic, the redhead muses, but it remains fully innocent. And he can’t help but be grateful to whatever it is – possibly Kevin’s incredible intuition, which Connor never expected – that’s keeping them from literally tearing into each other, because right now he thinks it’d do more damage than anything else.

They dress in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, it just is, and Connor is thankful for the absence of any judgmental expression, verbal or physical, from Kevin’s side as he flops down on their bed again, letting his legs dangle over the edge. Not under the covers, though, because there’s a visitor coming and he wants to get up, he really does, he wants to go out, should got out.

It’s just that he can’t, not right now.

A kiss lands on his forehead. Kevin bustles out of the room and, probably, into the kitchen. At some point, there’s a cup of tea deposited on the bedside table, just as Kevin sits down next to where his partner is spread out. A second later, the blond’s hand lands on Connor’s belly, starting up a calm rhythm of strokes as they just exist in the same space, their breaths falling into sync.

The scent of coffee, tea, porridge, and bananas fills the room, and everything just blends into one, life passing in fast forward and slow motion simultaneously.

The doorbell rings. Connor can hear voices, but he can’t muster up the energy to get up and greet Chris. He also feels like he’s clinging to Kevin like a child to his mother’s skirt, and surely that can’t be healthy. The young man deserves space to breathe, to be without the block of granite that is his partner.

So he lies, and muses, the white noise of his brain droning out everything except the ever-expanding void inside him.

 

///////////////////

 

‘How are things?’

A little sigh leaves Kevin’s lips as he turns towards their friend.

‘Fluctuating is the best word, I guess. We had one really, really bad day, where he wouldn’t eat, and didn’t speak very much; and then yesterday, he was… well. I say good, and I mean it’s probably as good as it gets right now. We were out all day, dropped off my mum, went for dinner and then had… dessert.’

The implication in Kevin’s voice doesn’t escape the shorter man, and in return he can’t help the little chuckle escaping him.

‘And it went without much of a hitch. Apart from that, though, he’s just… I don’t know how to describe it, and I don’t want to speak for him, but he’s just not himself. I mean, he’s still Connor, but he’s also not.’

‘And how are you doing?’ 

Chris can see it on Kevin’s face: the surprise, as if he never thought about this, about himself.

He’s always been like that, when he thinks about it. Kevin Price, for all is exaggerated grandeur, his initial arrogance, deeply cared about the people close to him. So much so he’d probably give his life, if the circumstances called for it.

‘I’m worried for him, about him. I’ve got no experience with this, so I’m just taking it as it comes, but gosh, Poptarts, I get what he meant when he said he wasn’t well.' 

‘That bad, aye?’

Kevin just nods. The lack of words is mildly disturbing, and for a split second, Poptarts worries about him, too.

‘Are you taking care of yourself?’

At that, a dry little laugh crosses Kevin’s lips, and he runs his hand across his neck. 

‘That’s essentially what he said… gosh, you guys are so similar at times. But yes, I am.’ 

His voice is sincere as he looks out the window, just for a few seconds, before looking back at Chris. 

‘I’ve spoken to my mum, a little, and I’m meeting Arnold today to just, you know, have a vent and talk about things. Although most of it will be cheerful stuff, Con actually asked me to speak to a friend, because apparently I’ll just feel horrid if I don’t.’ 

Suddenly, it becomes clear how much he has evolved, from fresh-faced, overly ambitious Elder Price to just Kevin. Even though he doesn’t look much different – maybe filled in his frame a bit more, and his hair isn’t quite as swoopy as it used to be – Poptarts can tell he’s grown up.

A fair deal of that can probably be attributed to the relationship with Connor, who’s always been mature, even when the other Elders, and Chris includes himself in that thought, weren’t.

Shooting him another smile, Kevin makes for the bedroom. Muted voices drift through the open door, but Chris purposefully doesn’t listen. They’re followed by the unmistakable sound of a kiss, before Kevin bounds back into the kitchen.

‘Alright, I’ll be back tonight. Have a great day, and a safe way home if I don’t see you.’

‘Wait. What do you mean, if you don’t see me?’

‘I might be back late…?’ 

Chris can just gape at Kevin. Given everything that happened, how can he be so laissez-faire about being back to find Connor alone?’

‘Does that mean I should wait…? I mean, we can’t leave him alone, can we?’ 

The look Kevin gives him is curious, as if he doesn’t understand the issue. His eyebrows knit together, he just stands there.

‘Why not? Connor’s a grown man. He’ll be absolutely fine on his own, don’t worry.’ 

‘But… he was suicidal.’

‘Yeah, and now he’s so depressed he’s barely able to leave the bed some days. And believe me, Chris – he’ll be fine on his own. Although he probably wouldn’t mind the company, it’s not like he’ll turn into a different person once nobody else is here.’ 

With that he hugs Chris, takes his keys and makes his way out of the front door.

Silence reigns.

It takes a minute, two, in which the blonde just stands there, gazing out the window, planning on how to go about this. How do you confront someone about these things? Should you confront them? Should you be sensitive and leave out what could possibly be uncomfortable?

When they were paired up at the Missionary Training Center, Connor had been immensely honest about his past experience with depression. At the time, being his naïve 19-year-old self, Chris hadn’t understood the implications, but he thought he’d gotten round to it over the past six years.

Obviously, that’s not been the case.

As he steps into the bedroom, the young man has to stop for a second. Wrapped in the duvet, Connor is sitting cross-legged on the bed, cradling a cup of tea. That alone wouldn’t be weird – they shared living quarters for two years and got very acquainted with each other’s habits and preferences, and this is very much Connor’s comfort-seeking pose. 

It’s his gaze, though, or more his stare, directed at a point somewhere in the far, far distance, which makes Chris stop in his tracks.

Normally, Connor McKinley is full of energy, full of a certain spark. Oh, he can be quiet, sure, and he very often is, but there’s always something lively to him, like an upbeat melody running in the background.

Even when sitting still, he doesn’t really sit still.

Except this time, he does. He doesn’t react to his best friend’s presence at first, doesn’t react to anything until Chris stands literally next to him and waves a hand in his face.

‘Hey, you okay there?’

The redhead whips around, big, blue eyes fixing onto his friend. A hitch in his breath betrays a second of near panic, but when he recognizes Chris, he visibly relaxes.

‘Yeah,’ comes the reply, and it’s weirdly toneless. 

‘Sorry, I was thinking. I think.’  

Chris just smiles, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed and turning towards his best friend. It mirrors the position they found themselves in so often during their mission – only back then, it was Connor doing the caring when his companion missed his family or was struck by the memory of his sister.

Years later, as he remembers all those hours spent talking, the smaller man feels inadequate.

‘That’s alright,’ he says, noting the way Connor diverts his eyes, as if he can’t bear to look at Chris. 

‘How are you doing?’

The sound of Connor swallowing as he takes a mouthful of tea is amplified in the room’s eerie silence. In a film, there would probably be a clock ticking, or the window howling outside. But right now, in reality, there is no such thing, no atmospheric noise relieving the tension.

‘Are you going to be angry if I swear, just this once?’

In response, Chris merely shakes his head. While Kevin might have loosened the ‘no swearing’ rule a bit, their District Leader most certainly hadn’t. As unusual as it would be to hear him swear, Poptarts knew it wouldn’t be without reason.

‘No, go ahead – don’t censor yourself. My ears won’t be offended.’

What follows is a deep sigh, accompanied by Connor pulling up his legs so he can rest his head on his knees.

‘I’m feeling fucking shit.’

A moment’s silence, broken by another sigh before he looks up again, their eyes meeting. Chris doesn’t dare look away; it’s not like he could, either. He’s trying to decipher what Connor isn’t saying, but is so openly legible in his eyes. When silence stretches once again, the redhead sighs once more, stretching his legs again and wrapping his arms around himself.

‘If I were feeling anything, that is. Because I’m not sure if I am, right now.’

This time, the look he shoots Chris is open and unguarded, home to a whole host of emotions. The former missionary’s heart aches at the helplessness etched so clearly onto his friend’s face. In response, he scoots a little closer, allowing their knees to touch. 

It’s a silent invitation to continue, hanging between them for longer than necessary comfortable. Connor moves, just a little wiggle, before blindly reaching out to put the cup of tea down.

Before it can spill, even if it isn’t teetering, a Chris takes the warm container out of his friend’s hand, depositing it on the nightstand. The other man could’ve easily reached, no question, but somehow his former companion thinks a little help might be appreciated.

As he turns back around, he finds himself fixed with a surprisingly steely glare. 

‘Could you not treat me like a child, please.’

The way he emphasized ever word makes it clear Connor is far from amused. At first, Chris doesn’t know what to do, so he just stares back, watching as his best friend slowly scoots away to create some distance.

‘…Okay? What brought that on?’ 

‘I could’ve done that on my own, and you very well know that.’

Not appreciated, then. And as if the unusual slowness of Connor’s speech wasn’t weird enough, there’s something else rarely heard: annoyance. He seems to be genuinely irritated by what just transpired.

And Chris can’t, for the life of him, think of a reason why. Which is why he sounds just a little tetchy, in response to which Connor looks even more critical.

‘I just wanted to help you.’

‘You could’ve just asked if I needed or wanted help, instead of just making the executive decision.’

‘Sorry for being a nice person, then. But I don’t even see what your problem is, here, Connor!’

‘My problem is that you make me feel as if I’m incapable of doing even the smallest things.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!' 

It’s not the most sensitive thing to say, sure, but Chris just wants Connor to turn back into his rational self. To the District Leader, who was passionate and always out for harmony, who’s in favor of quiet discussions rather than raised voices and accusations. Usually, direct statements – and there is no doubt this is a ridiculous situation – do the trick, by bringing him out of whatever mindset he’s in.

Sadly, it has the complete opposite effect today.

‘How am I being ridiculous?’

In a sudden burst of energy, Connor shrugs off the duvet and gets up, the look he throws Chris one of incredulous disbelief. It’s no surprise that he starts pacing, or that he runs his hands up his neck and into his hair.

‘I don’t need a minder,’ he says, stopping and glaring at Chris, who just answers with a shrug.

‘Nobody says you do. Neither Kevin nor me.’

With a huff, Connor crosses his arms and starts pacing once more, looking at his friend ever so often.

‘Don’t try that one, I’m not an idiot.’

‘I’m not trying to fool you, Connor, I’m telling the truth. You’re being paranoid here, honestly.’

The young man half expects his former companion to snap again when he realizes what he said, but this one seems to fly by him. He’s lowered his voice, though, which takes some of the urgency out of their argument.

‘I heard you. I heard you speak to Kevin, and I know you think I’m a basket case, someone who’s just so done there’s no hope… .’

‘Okay, stop. I did not say that, at all.’

It’s rare for Chris to raise his voice like that; Connor’s face betrays a similar surprise to that which the blond feels. But he feels the situation slip from his grip an increasing speed. Something needs to be done to rescue this, to stop them from completely falling out.

A deep breath betrays that, while he may not be pacing anymore, Connor is far from done with this.

‘I see the way you look at me, Chris. As if I need pity. As if I was a charity project. But I’m not. I’m living, admittedly barely just, and I’m a grow man, so please treat me with a little dignity.’

And that’s the straw on the camel’s back for Poptarts. Before he realizes, he’s jumped up, standing across from Connor with his fists clenched at his side and hot anger running through his veins. Seeing his best friend like this, beating himself down so much, makes him angrier than anything he said – that just hurt.

‘Cut the shit and listen up, will you?’

By now, his mouth is speaking faster than his brain can control. It’s a potential recipe for disaster, considering the already heated atmosphere; Chris just hopes his gray matter will catch up, and quick.

Because no matter how much he wants to take Connor by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, or his issues out of him, he doesn’t want to lose the guy who’s always stood by his side, no questions asked. 

Like when the day of his sister’s death approached, just the day after Elder Neeley’s birthday, and Chris felt like he ruined everyone’s joy. Twice. Connor hadn’t judged, or been anything but supportive. There had been a firm word, yes, but that had been an effort to ground him, to offer support, nothing else.

Now, five years later, he wants to return the favor. If he just wasn’t so bad with words, or controlling his temper once it was set off.

‘I’m not here because I think you can’t be on your own, or need someone to wipe your pasty, white, depressed butt. You can do that yourself. I’m here because you’re my best friend; I’m here because I care about you. I’m worried, for fuck’s sake,’

Every swear word makes Connor flinch, visibly and almost comically, while Chris only draws from them, uses them as the chance to assemble his thoughts. 

‘You’re one of the most important people in my life, Connor. Right up there with my parents. True, I don’t know what you feel like, or what your brain is like, but lashing out at me is not going to help. All I want is for you to get better. I want to _understand_ what you’re going through, so I can help you. 

‘And I don’t care if this is the way to go or not, but I seriously hope you’re not like that towards Kevin. He might’ve been a right ass when we first met him, but that guy is giving his everything for you.’

Across from him, the man in question is frozen on the spot. 

‘Everything, Con. He was worried sick when you were in hospital, even when he’d spoken to you, when it was clear that you were in good hands and would be fine. He messaged me, constantly, after you’d called him, asking what I knew, if I had known anything before, heck, if I was anywhere nearby to go and check on you. 

‘He never let you down, as far as I know. Never. So for Heavenly Father’s sake, I’m asking you to get your head out of your own stupid arse and just… what is your problem? Why are we fighting over a stupid mug of tea?’

‘Are you telling me to smile and get on with it?’

‘No. I’m telling you to take a deep breath and accept help or at least tell me in a normal, civil tone what just made you flip.’

Chris can see the tears before they start to fall. It’s obvious in Connor’s body language: how his shoulders start shaking, how he raises his hand to cover his mouth, all while slinging his left arm around his own waist. His eyes are blown wide, shock and disbelief and something else mirrored in the impossible blue.

Somehow, he still manages to look graceful.

When the shell finally cracks, and the first traces of sadness fall onto pale cheeks, Chris is sure the sound of his heart starting to break reverberates through the entire building.

‘Oh, gosh, Connor,’ he whispers, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears as it carries his inner turmoil into the world.

‘Come here.’

In three steps, the blond has crossed the distance between the two men and circles his arm around the former District Leader. The height difference, albeit just a few inches, makes the whole affair a bit awkward, but it’ll do.

Connor bends down a little as if to make up for it, but he doesn’t hug him back, instead keeping his hands as they are. It’s as if he wants to actively hold it all in. The nearly soundless sobs. The shivers. The tears, most of all, which Chris can feel dripping onto his shoulder now and then. 

‘It’s alright,’ he coos as he hugs the redhead even tighter, ‘let it all out.’

As they stand there, Chris runs his hands up and down the other man’s back, trying to soothe him. Beyond shakes and shivers, and the occasional low sniff, there’s no indication that Connor is crying – it’s as impressive as it is unnerving. All Poptarts feels able to do is hum, and whisper soothing nothings, in the hope that they’ll offer some sort of comfort. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Connor stammers at some point, the sound of his voice muted by his fingers. As he tries to draw away, Chris makes a point of hugging his friend even closer for a second before letting him go.

Without sparing a look, Connor lets himself flop onto the bed, lying spread-eagled on his front for a second. When he turns around and wraps himself in his duvet again, Poptarts takes it as an invitation to sit down.

And then they sit, in silence, and wait, although for what nobody knows.

Connor has stopped crying, but as soon as he notices his friend’s eyes on him, he still turns his head away, as if in shame. In response, Chris swings his legs up, kneeling in front of his friend. 

‘Hey,’ he keeps his voice as gentle as possible, signaling they’re good and he wants this to end. 

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been this harsh. I’m sure hurt you, and that wasn’t right of me.’

Deep inside, there’s no denying Poptarts still thinks he was right and Connor overreacted, but he also sees it for what it is. The need to defuse all of it, and the wish to help his friend are stronger than any pride he has.

‘No, Chris, stop. I need to say this.’

The redhead swallows audibly, wiping his face despite the still-escaping tears. There are red blotches on his cheeks, and his eyes have a distinct red tint to them, too.

For all it’s worth, even though Connor is not an ugly crier, he still can’t hide the evidence.

‘It’s… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kicked off.' 

‘It’s okay, Con, you don’t need to apologize.’

‘Yes, I do.’

In the determined undertone, a glimpse of the ‘old’ Connor McKinley shines through, even if he’s hiding under tears and shame and this weird new slowness some of his movements and sentences display.

‘It’s… I could say it’s not me, it’s my depression, and it would be true, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still said those things.’

He takes a deep breath, which comes out sounding more like a sigh, and finally looks at Chris. There are tear tracks, plenty of them, and the redhead’s skin has that slightly unhealthy grey tinge pale people sometimes get when they’re ill or just don’t feel good.

‘I know I overreacted, and I’m ashamed I lashed out like that. All this shit,’ he apologizes with a quick ‘oh, gosh, sorry’ when he sees Chris flinch, ‘all of this is just wearing me down.’ 

‘That bad?’

Chris knows is a stupid question, deep down, but he’s also interested. After his sister died, his therapist always said he should make stories about himself, and maybe that’s what Connor needs to do – just tell his story.

The initial reaction is a nod, followed by a short pause – marred only by Connor’s deep breaths – before there are more tears, and another sniff.

‘This is… not the worst I’ve been, by all means, but it’s like I forgot how limiting and frustrating depression can be.

‘I either sleep too much or not at all, which means I toss and turn while trying not to wake Kevin. I sometimes can’t get out of bed, and if I was living on my own, I probably wouldn’t have showered, or eaten, or done anything but lie around in my bed watching the wall be a wall, because I just don’t any energy.

‘Most of the time I’m just… sad, so sad that I feel like I won’t ever stop once I start crying, or I’m so wired I just want to scream, and other times I’m scared by myself, because I’m empty and apathetic and don’t feel anything. 

‘And I hate it, so much. I can’t do anything, like a pathetic waste of space, like the world would be better off without me. So, when I heard you earlier, and when you wanted to help… I saw that as confirmation of all that. And I didn’t want it to be true. I don’t want it to be true. Pile onto that a week of frustration and me struggling to not lash out at Kevin... So I snapped. I’m really, really sorry.’

He’s not a stranger to Connor’s occasional monologues, but Poptarts is still left speechless for a second. Instead of offering words, he just looks as his friend, looking decidedly small in his makeshift cape, and takes him in.

And suddenly, he knows why he’s been felling a bit off since he came in. For all he just revealed, and for all he went through in the past ten days, the redhead looks too normal.

‘Wow, that sounds… tough. Really tough.’

The former missionary just shrugs. His gaze is open, if a bit too awake for Chris’ liking, especially considering Connor’s explanation minutes ago. It all very much looks as if he’s in denial, or trying to ignore it.

Or as if this is the apathy, the non-feeling he just spoke about.

‘It just is, I guess. Like… it’s frustrating and embarrassing and wearing me down, but it’s not like it’s changing right now. And I’m not alone, which helps a great deal.’

Another shrug. This time, Connor also directs his gaze towards the duvet. He can’t look at his friend, it seems, at least not for a prolonged period of time. 

‘Oh, you’ve started therapy, too, didn’t you?’

The blonde’s question apparently falls on deaf ears, as there is no reaction at first. When the silence stretches, and neither of them makes to say anything, there’s a nearly imperceptible nod. 

‘How did that go?’

Connor takes a breath as if making to speak, yet falls silent before any sound comes out. There’s nothing but another shrug, this time even more half-hearted than the ones before.

‘Not good?’

In reality, Chris feels like he should let Connor do the talking, but something about this situation makes him uncomfortable. It’s not the first time there has been silence, today, but this time it’s full of implication. Connor’s apparent refusal to answer says more than his words ever could.

‘Did you actually go, Connor? Please don’t tell me you skipped them and lied.’

The former missionary doesn’t care whether he sounds desperate, right now. Looking at his friend, he feels like something needs to be done. If that means taking him and personally dragging him to a therapist, Chris would be ready to do it.

‘No, of course I went.’ 

Well, at least some part of Connor remained – even if it was just his responsible side, and the part of him that absolutely hated being flaky.

‘But?’ 

With his eyes squeezed shut, Connor looks so funny Chris feels a giggle bubble up. He suppresses it last minute, in the exact moment his best friend lets out a frustrated sigh.

‘I don’t like her, Chris.’ 

Of everything he expected, the blonde didn’t see that one coming. Usually, Connor gets along with just about everyone, so hearing him express something like dislike towards another person rings a small alarm bell.

‘How about giving her a chance? I mean, it’s only been what, one session?’

Two fingers are raised, and he gets the hint without the redhead needing to say anything more.

‘Okay, two, then. Still, you never know. She might turn out to be different to how you think she is.’

Once again, there is no response, apart from Connor pulling the duvet tighter around himself. Chris watches him as he buries the fingers of his right hand in the folds, while those on his left hand run along the ivory skin of his right forearm.

For the first time, Chris notices something else that’s different about Connor: a palm-sized bruise, spreading over his elbow joint. When the redhead notices, he makes sure to cover it, as if it was shameful.

Seeing him like this, insecure and so obviously not well, is frustrating and confusing. Chris doesn’t want to push any further, though, at least not as insistently as he did before. At the same time, he’s torn between wanting to give Connor space to do this himself and forcing him to get better.

‘No, that’s not it,’ he finally says, looking straight at Chris. Sitting up a little straighter, without letting go of his cozy cape, the former District Leader cracks his shoulders.

‘That’s not how this works. I don’t trust her. But I need to, to get better.’

Before Chris can interject, a deep breath from Connor silences all objections. He’s not done, so his former companion sits back and gestures for McKinley to continue.

‘I don’t trust her, and because of that I’m not getting better. I haven’t spoken to Kevin about this yet, so please, if you keep one thing to yourself, let it be this. I haven’t fully made my mind up, but… I’m not getting better, and I know I won’t if this continues.

‘I’m considering quitting therapy.’

Stumped is one word to describe Chris’ situation. Shocked is another. As soon as the words have left Connor’s mouth, his friend feels like he’s being doused in hot and cold water alternatively.

‘What? Are you insane?’

The look Connor throws his way instantly makes Chris regret his choice of words. It’s the second time he’s put his foot in today, and this time it feels far worse than the first time.

And yes, that had been a pretty insensitive thing to say, but he’s worried. He’s downright scared for his closest friend’s wellbeing. The sentence had just slipped out.

‘I’m sorry, Con, I didn’t mean it like that.' 

Now, it’s damage control at best. Judging by how the man in question has huddled up even tighter, Chris just hit the sorest of spots.

‘Well, you’re not that wrong, are you?’ When Connor speaks, it becomes clear his former companion definitely hit the nerve. On the head. With a sledgehammer. His voice is toneless, and Poptarts wishes he never said anything.

‘Depression is just part one. For all I know, I could slowly be going insane, and none of you, or me, noticed. I mean, look at me.’

‘Yes, Connor, I am wrong. And so are you.’

From where he’s sitting on his haunches in front of the redhead, Chris scoots a bit closer to lay a hand on his friend’s biceps. Whether it’s to soothe or to show solidarity, he doesn’t know, but it makes the other man raise his head.

Up close, the hurt etched onto his face is clearly visible. An open book, displayed for all the world to read if it had only Chris in it.

This isn’t what Connor should look like. He should be smiling, and laughing, and dancing around the house, maybe singing, and definitely be talking about Kevin far too much. He shouldn’t look this hurt, and close to tears; especially not about something Chris, his supposedly best friend, said.

So Chris leans forward and slings his arms around the blanket-human-hybrid, to hug him close once more.

‘I was so wrong in saying that. Absolutely wrong. And I am so sorry for hurting you like this. Again.’

Initially, there is no reaction, not even a slightly noisy breath. But then, two arms slowly hug Chris back for the first time today.

Warmth floods the smaller man, making his skin prickle and tingle from head to toe.

‘You’re not going crazy, I promise. I won’t let that happen, hear me? Not without a fight.’

Now, on to the hard part. A deep breath, and another. Connor, holding on a little tighter now, just listens. 

‘And despite what I just said, I don’t think you are insane, either. But, Connor… I don’t have much experience in this, but do you really think you should stop going?’ 

The bundle in his arms stiffens, but Poptarts just continues talking. A lot of it is fuelled by the hope that the other man will listen before passing judgment or displaying a reaction beyond an unhappy grumble. 

It’s like he’s subconsciously trying to tap into Connor’s diplomacy and his talent for fair discussions.

‘I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just saying you should stop, breathe and think. Only for a second. And I’m sure you’ve done that, because you’re not the kind of person to be unprepared, but this is so important.’

‘What do you mean?’

With his face burrowed into the duvet and Chris’ collarbone, the redhead’s voice is so muffled it takes a second until the blonde understood the question. Carefully pre-constructing parts of his answer, he ran a hand over Connor’s head, just like his mother used to do.

‘Don’t get this the wrong way, okay? But it’s fairly obvious you’re not well and that you do need help, Connor. Heck, I mean… last week, I was convinced, for a second, I’d have to tell Kevin you took your own life.’ 

A sound of complaint interrupts his speech, but Poptarts only gently shushs Connor before talking on, as if to drone out any upcoming disagreements. 

‘Hush, I’m not judging you, I’m presenting a fact. I wasn’t sure whether I should tell you this, but you scared me, Connor. Big time. And I’m sure you scared yourself, too.

‘I know this is probably incredibly hard, but don’t do this to yourself. Or to Kevin. Or to me. You deserve to be happy, and healthy, and you deserve help. 

‘And this already feels like I’m talking too much about myself, so… sorry about that. I’ll just shut up, now.’

From below his chin, there’s a murmur sounding vaguely like ‘’s okay’. A few seconds later, red hair tickles Chris’ nose as Connor slowly loosens their hug to let himself fall back against the headboard. He’s definitely trying to hold himself together, Chris can see it in the lines of his face, but now and then, the odd tear slips out.

‘It’s not… I’m not… this isn’t an easy decision,’ he says, followed by a deep sigh. Wiping his eyes with the corner of the duvet, the former District Leader hugs one of his legs close, resting his chin on the knee and staring out the window.

‘It’s just that I don’t trust her. And she makes me really, really uncomfortable. I mean, therapy isn’t meant to be cushy and comfortable and telling you how hard you had it, but she just… nope. I can’t. I’d trust the unbaptized General B more than I trust her.’

At the notion of the General, Chris can feel his eyebrows knot together. That’s a pretty bold statement, and while Connor is definitely one for dramatics, he knows their time and place, so there must be something to it.

‘But what is it?’

Pulling his other leg up to hug it close, Connor sighs again before he answers, as if he’s not made his mind up yet, either.

‘As said, I don’t trust her. Not at all. And I don’t think she’s the right fit for me.’

Just as he’s about to ask another question, Connor’s hand shoots up, effectively silencing Chris.

‘During my first appointment, when I was two days out of hospital and still reeling and tender from everything, she said I should think about a different career, because in my state, I would have no chance in the business. So that was basically an hour spent on career advice I didn’t want or need, because this is something I’ve worked for all my life even at my lowest. And she said my sexuality had nothing to do with it, either.

‘Then, today, it was just the same. She said she didn’t want to give me anti-depressants, because they probably wouldn’t work. Then I touched on the whole conversion therapy-thing, which she first dug into and then dismissed, saying it could not possibly be the root cause, and that it was likely stress related.

‘And… and I can’t work with someone like that, Chris. Both times when I left her office, I felt vulnerable, and unsafe, and like I needed the session to go on longer because she didn’t end it on a note where I felt ready to actually leave. That room is supposed to feel like a safe space, but it’s the complete opposite. And I don’t feel taken seriously either.’

By now, Poptarts is sure his frown will be etched onto his face for a few hours, purely because the lines deepened with each of Connor’s words.

‘I know I need help. I want help. But… to get better, I need to trust her to take care of me, and I can’t. So I won’t get better. It’s a downright spiral, and let’s be honest, I’m not brave enough to break it by just quitting, but… do you see where I’m coming from?’

He does, he really does, but there are no words expressing it, right now. A mute nod is all Chris can muster, his thoughts racing with anger, and hurt on his friend’s behalf, sprinkled with a dose of helplessness and the simultaneous will to make it better. 

Just how exactly would he do that? How do you help someone if you don’t know what they’re going through, or how they feel? Not to mention that, apparently, Connor feels nothing, which doesn’t exactly make anything easier.

‘How are you now, Connor? Is there anything you need?’ 

Of all the things he expected to see, a blush shooting into Connor’s face was not on the list. Twisting his fingers deeper, he shakes his head no

‘No, I’m alright. Well, as alright as it gets, right now. I did something stupid to get there, and it’ll be a day or two until I won’t feel bad about it, but…’

‘What did you do?’

Chris hates interrupting Connor, but when the blush blooms even brighter, he can’t help it. 

There’s a moment of silence, the redhead looking at his friend like a deer in the headlights before he tucks his head between his knees.

‘I slept with Kevin.’

‘How’s that stupid? I mean, I thought that was. I don’t know, a fairly regular occurrence for the two of you?’

Judging by the low groan, Connor is either embarrassed or frustrated. Somehow, given his own sexual inexperience, Poptarts assumes it’s the latter.

‘Yeah, it is. Well, normally. And we had sex last night, which was fine and actually pretty amazing, but… this morning, I literally did it because it was something, and because I thought it’d keep me from falling apart by making me feel something other empty.’

‘Did it?’

‘For about five minutes… one before I came and four after.’

It’s funny, Chris thinks, how Connor can’t seem to sit still speaking about this. Just as the last word leaves his lips he looks up again, squinting against the light and looking a little apologetic.

‘Sorry if that’s too much info, or if this makes you uncomfortable – since, you know, you chose the whole chastity thing.’

Trust McKinley to still think of others when pouring out his own heart. With a pat to his knee, Chris signals that he’s okay with both the information and the general topic. Most of the time, they don’t need words to communicate the little things, and it seems his message is received easily, even with Connor’s brain a bit foggier than usual.

‘Chris… can I tell you something?’

But as Connor shifts, reaching behind himself to adjust the soft-looking throw pillows he’s downright lounging against, something noticeably shifts between them.

‘Sure, what is it?’

‘This hasn’t just started in the last three weeks.’

‘What does that mean?’

Connor sighs, again – he’s doing a lot of that, today. It’s unusual, but somehow also weirdly fitting; for Chris, it’s a sign that he hasn’t given up but is still struggling.

It’s a good sign.

‘I’ve seen the warning signs for a good two months, give or take. But I refused to acknowledge them, because I’m a thickheaded, stubborn idiot.’

Okay. Turns out today seems to be a day of surprises, and not necessarily the look-I-got-you-a-puppy-kind. Instantly, the former missionary begins thinking back to all the times he spoke to his companion, be it face to face, over Skype or on the phone.

He can’t, for the life of him, pick out warning signs, or anything hinting at Connor not being well.

‘Wait. You’ve been depressive for that long, and neither Kevin nor me nor anyone noticed?’

‘Pretty much, yeah.’

‘But… how could we not see this?’

A small smile crosses Connor’s face, but it’s far from his usual, happy expression. Instead it’s wistful, and a little amused. 

It’s easily one of the saddest things Chris has seen. 

‘I guess I’m a good actor.’

On the last sentence, he turns towards Chris, holding his gaze. The shorter man makes all effort to look as open, as non-judgmental as possible, even if all he wants to do right now is find that therapist and give her a good talking-to.

Sitting back, Chris lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. It’s a lot to take in, yes, but he also wants to mentally slap himself for ever doubting his former companion’s ability to make an informed, rational decision.

He’s depressive, the blonde’s mind provides, not an invalid and certainly not an idiot, either.

As the realization sinks in, everything feels like it slots into place. Like a new world suddenly spreads in front of Chris. One in which Connor is his best friend, albeit one who needs some extra help here and there.

It’s a weirdly freeing thought.

Under his friend’s gaze, the former District Leader is starting to fidget a little. As soon as he notices, Chris takes one of his hands, holding it loosely, while the other wipes one tear-stained cheek after the other.

‘Thank you for telling me,’ he says, patting Connor’s shoulder.

‘Apology accepted and everything noted. Even your resistance to call me a massive idiot. But still, I need to say sorry, too – I shouldn’t have pushed you, and I shouldn’t have let this rile me up. So, if I made you uncomfortable, or if I hurt you, please accept my apology, too?’ 

Before he’s halfway through his sentence, Connor is already nodding, all while wiping his own face again.

‘Of course,’ he responds, voice slightly hoarse.

‘You’re my best friend.’

‘I know, which is why you called me when Kevin didn’t answer. And I’m still sorry I didn’t come visit you.’

For a fleeting moment, Connor smiles as he pushes a few stray strand of hair back from his forehead. Funnily enough, Chris thinks, they’re still somewhat holding hands, but he’s reluctant to let go.

Their friendship had always been one full of easy intimacy. There’s no reason to break it, now.

‘It’s alright. It wasn’t exactly the best moment, and it was hard enough letting Kevin in, so… it’s been better for all of us, I think.’

‘Did you think about banning Kevin?’

Poptarts can’t keep the smugness out of his voice. He likes Kevin, of course, and not just because he’s in a relationship with their former District Leader - but somehow, the mental image of Kevin Price not getting his will, of being denied something, is oddly pleasing.

Jealousy might be a deadly sin, but Christopher Thomas isn’t as faithful as he once was, so he allows himself to bask in it for the tiniest of seconds. 

‘No, as if I could,’ Connor scoffs. He also gives his friend a funny look, as if reading his mind.

‘But it’s… hospitals aren’t the greatest places anyways. Psych wards are just full of basket cases like me, with a door that locks behind you. It’s pretty scarring, I assume.’ 

‘Hey, you’re not a basket case.’

‘That’s what Kevin said, before saying if I was, I’d at least be his basket case.’

‘Well, as much as it pains me, I have to agree with him. You’re not. You’re far from it.’

Rolling his eyes, the redhead continues.

‘Anyways. Those things always make you so vulnerable, not that I wasn’t the epitome of that already, and I just… didn’t want him to see me like this, because it’s a big ask and I was in a really, really dark place. And suicide watch is annoying.’

‘Yet you still let him in.’

‘Well, yeah. I love him, and if I can’t be open and vulnerable around him, what’s the point. Are you jealous?’ 

Slowly, a teasing note creeps into Connor’s voice, and he carries that little, smug smile he’d so often wear when talking about Kevin and the fact that they were in a relationship together. As if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. 

‘Ripped apart by envy. I mean, he gets to see, and probably smell, you all sweaty after dance class, and if that’s not a massive privilege.’

The small bubble of laughter is unexpected, but not unwelcome. Connor looks hilariously surprised, and Chris can’t resist gently fistbumping his friend’s knee before he lets himself fall against the headboard next to the redhead.

For a minute or two, they sit in silence, until a head lands on his shoulder, auburn hair tickling Chris’ ear and cheek.

‘Hey, Chris?’ 

‘Hm?’

‘Thank you. For, you know, just being you, and being here.’ 

‘That’s alright.’

‘I’m depressed, have suicidal thoughts and just fought with my best friend, or it feels like I did. I can be the most insufferable, horrible person when I’m like this… Feels like it needs saying. I really appreciate you.’ 

When he hears suicidal, the familiar hot wave crashes over Chris again. It’s not the fact that it’s there – he would be more surprised if Connor didn’t have at least the odd suicidal thought here and there, considering the state he was in – it’s more the casual tone coloring the other man’s voice. As if it was no big deal and just something usual, like doing the laundry or cooking dinner.

Then it hit the blonde: for Connor, it probably is. And somehow, that makes Chris sadder than nearly nothing else he heard last night.

So instead of an answer, he just raises his hand to run it over his former companion’s hair, mirroring the position they so often found themselves in during their mission. Its effect is nearly instant, as Connor slowly relaxes a bit more, his breath slowing down.

Further silence. At some point, Chris twists his head to see if the other man has fallen asleep. He meets a pair of wide, blue eyes, just looking at him, eyebrows raised in expectation. As if Connor knew his friend wanted to say something. As if he was encouraging the question. 

‘So… what are suicidal thoughts like? Wanna talk about it?’ 

As soon as the words have left his mouth, Poptarts anticipates a rebuttal. When it doesn’t immediately happen, he grows suspicious, but there’s no sign of McKinley being offended.

‘Not particularly, but I don’t want you to worry… I mean, they’re harmless, I guess. As harmless as can be. It’s all very abstract, really. More of a “what if? Would people miss me?” than “how to?”, really.’

‘You know we’d miss you, right?’

‘Yeah, I know. My brain’s just weird and perpetually sad, so it doesn’t always get the message. They’re scary, yes, but so is just about anything right now. The chance of me acting on them is… nonexistent. I mean, it’s the complete opposite to when I was 14 and had nobody on my side. I’ve got Kev. I’ve got you. And Naba, and Arnold, and the rest of the guys. I’ll be fine.’ 

The accompanying shrug jostles Chris’ shoulder, which results in their heads banging together.

‘Ouch,’ comes from below his chin, before Connor sits up again. This time, as he turns to Chris, he looks serious, but without the despair that so clearly colored his words and expression before. 

‘But something different. I need to ask you something. But it’s not depressing, for once, I swear.’

After all they discussed, Chris doesn’t think anything can shock him. So he mirrors Connor, turning towards his friend, and just nods, smiling while internally steeling himself.

‘Would you do me the honor of being my best man?’

And just like that, with all but 11 words, Poptarts’ world has once again been turned upside down. All he can do is stare at the redhead, his mouth opening and closing like a fish’s, while his brain is running at 100 miles an hour.

‘Wait… does that… are you…?’ 

Across from him, a small smile on his face, Connor just nods. 

‘Kevin asked me a week ago. After he picked me up from hospital.’ 

Talk about bad timing. With a fond sigh, Chris rolls his eyes, before he can’t hold back the smile threatening to split his face in half. As if he hadn’t done it enough already, he pulls Connor into a tight hug. 

‘Oh, my gosh, Con, that’s amazing. Congratulations, I’m so happy for you! Oh, gosh, this is the best news ever! Of course I’ll be your best man!’

In all his overwhelming joy, his heart skips a little beat when he feels the man in question shake against him. But when Chris realizes it’s with chuckles rather than tears, he just presses a quick kiss to Connor’s temple before gently pushing him away. 

‘So he’s making finally an honest man out of you, eh?’ 

‘I’ve always been an honest man. It’s that Mormon upbringing,’ Connor shoots back, before letting himself fall sideways, against the headboard.

‘But yes, he is.’

‘Was it romantic?’ 

‘Define romantic. I think it was… it was under a tree, in Central Park, and he didn’t have a ring, so he tied a little red band around my finger.’

As if in emphasis, he wiggles his hand in Chris’ face, although his eyes are a little sad. 

‘I’m not wearing it anymore, right now… turns out, while it’s sweet, it also turns a little gross during everyday life. So we decided to keep it our little secret, for now.’

Even though Connor is sparse with the details, Poptarts can just about imagine the scene. Despite all the theaterkid antics ingrained in his personality, he doesn’t have to look at the redhead’s face to know he appreciated a quiet, intimate proposal more than a big, dramatic flash mob.

And just like that, an idea hits him.

‘Hey, how about this. Given that you’ll have to plan a wedding, how about we get a head start?’

‘Please don’t remind me,’ Connor looks a little pained as he says it, his fingers knotting and unknotting in his lap.

‘Right now, I don’t even have the energy to get out of bed, and I’m just… don’t get me wrong, I’m happy, but just because I smiled five minutes ago, doesn’t mean I don’t feel like shit.

‘There’s still that idiot therapist, and the fact that I need medication. Like, I genuinely, really need it, because I can’t function like this. I have mood swings, yeah, and sometimes they make a day less awful, but all the pretending and everything… now that I don’t have to, I’m perpetually exhausted. And with no therapy, I have no outlet, or anything.’

Honesty suits the other man well, even if the topic is unpleasant. Chris wishes he could always be like that, wishes the world would let Connor be like that. But Broadway is unforgiving, or so he imagines. The press is the main culprit, sure, but Chris can still fully understand why Connor would pretend, or at least keep his depression as hidden as possible.

That doesn’t mean he won’t be able to get him out of the house. And he’ll do it today.

‘You like keeping a journal, right? I mean, you did it in Uganda…?’

At Connor’s nod, a plan takes shape.

‘How about I take you out for… let’s say coffee, to make it easier, even though neither of us actually drinks that. If you want, you can pack your laptop, and I’ll help you find a new therapist. I’ll text my dad, see if he knows someone…. And if you think you’re up for it, we can write an email to your current therapist saying you don’t need her services, and we might even complain to the health center.’

‘But what’s that got to do with journals?’ 

‘We could get you one on the way? So you’ve got something to, I don’t know, turn to on bad days?’ 

For a moment, Connor looks doubtful, but then he gives a slow nod.

‘At my speed, though. Please. And when it gets too much…’

‘…you say the word and we’ll get home. Promise.’

Another sigh, but Connor is already turning to let his legs dangle over the bedside. 

‘Alright, then. Let’s see if I can manage without going completely batshit.’

  

/////////////

 

‘This is going to be amazing!’

Kevin had been sure Arnold’s voice carried through the entire restaurant when he announced his and Connor’s engagement. It’s endearing, really, how something as the promise to celebrate the occasion with something simple as pizza and movie night can make them both so happy. In Arnold’s case, to the point where he slips into old habits and forgets that he has an indoor voice.

And who knows, maybe Connor will actually feel up to joining them. Kevin is still trying to adjust, and the mood changes don’t make it easy, but he’s hoping his partner will be well enough to cuddle up and maybe have a little chat. 

When he told Arnold about the situation, and what had happened over the last weeks, the other man had not just been understanding, but surprisingly in the know.

‘Oh, my uncle has depression. Really bad. He won’t leave the house for weeks, he won’t shower… wait, does Connor shower?’

Kevin had rolled his eyes, saying it ‘wasn’t that bad’, but inside, he had felt a pang of worry. This was real. Without self-aggrandizing , this would probably what Connor would be like if it wasn’t for Kevin.

‘He’s showered and everything, don’t worry.’

That had been the end of that.

Now, as he unlocks the door to their apartment, he doesn’t know what will greet him. Kevin half expects to find his fiancé asleep, exhausted by just being alive.

Imagine Kevin’s surprise when he does, indeed, find Connor at least half-asleep in bed, rolled up in their duvet, with Chris Thomas – former mission companion and certified best friend to ever walk the earth (and Kevin is saying this without any jealously, but with a lot of gratefulness) – sitting next to him, reading the New York Times out loud.

Kevin takes a moment to appreciate the scene, before gently knocking on the doorframe to announce his presence.

‘Honey, I’m home,’ Kevin jokingly chirps, and he can’t hold in the laugh as Chris good-naturedly rolls his eyes at him. At the same time, Connor sleepily blinks at Kevin, before giving him a small smile and a little wave.

‘Hello to you, too, Kevin.’

‘Who says I didn’t include you in my greeting?’

If anything, the rivalry between them was only ever for show. Chris is straight, and planning his own proposal, and Connor has always been very adamant about the other blonde not being his type.

Not that Kevin had ever been jealous, after they’d started dating. At least not of Chris.

‘Ugh, spare me, please. But, if I could talk to you for a second?’

Kevin just nods, something uncomfortable churning in his stomach as he sees a shadow pass over Connor’s face.

‘I’ll catch you in the kitchen,’ he says, making his way across the flat to wait for Chris.

Once he’s alone, the fear in his stomach grows, and Kevin finds himself pacing the small room to alleviate his nerves. Somehow, although his partner looked just about fine, Kevin is still afraid of what is to come. So much so that he’s completely in his own head, not noticing Poptarts stepping into the room. 

‘Hey, Kev?’

He whips around, like a schoolboy caught doing something naughty, just to see the other man look more serious than he ever thought possible.

‘You alright?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, I’m fine… speaking to Arnold helped get my head cleared, I think.’

Running his hand through his hair, Kevin looks at Chris as if hoping he’d offer some morsel of knowledge or the other. Nothing spills on his own accord, though.

‘How’s Connor doing?’ 

A small smile flits over Chris’ face, soft and gentle in the dim light.

‘Depressed. Vulnerable. Frustrated with his life, himself and his therapist.'

While speaking, the shorter man looks somewhat uncomfortable, shooting a look over his shoulder towards the half-closed bedroom door. When he next speaks, he lowers his voice, almost conspirationally.

‘Listen, he originally told me not to tell you, but it’s important and I think the situation has changed enough – he’s quit with his current therapist, and through some string pulling on my side, he’s got a session with a new one in about a week’s time.

‘From what I’ve heard today, you’re doing nothing short of a stellar job. But he sprung it on me, and my reaction wasn’t the best. So I think you should know. When he tells you, just… let him talk it out, okay?’

Kevin doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods. The knot in his stomach is easing, slowly uncoiling, now that he knows it’s nothing bad.

‘Connor and me agreed on me checking in on him every three days - but if you need anything, let me know, okay?'

‘O…kay?' 

‘I mean it. Connor needs you, but you can’t always do this on your own. And you shouldn’t have to. So… just ring me, if you need anything. Like last week. Just because he’s ill and you’re not doesn’t mean you don’t need a hand… and yes, that includes bitching about his moods, if you want.’

‘That’s… thank you, Poptarts. You’re a good friend.’

‘So are you, Super-Mormon,’ comes the reply, a cheeky smile betraying that the nickname is meant fondly.

‘Plus, you’re making an honest man out of my best friend, and that’s made him happier than anything else.’

‘I try,’

It’s sincere, and from the heart, and with anyone else, Kevin would feel awkwardly vulnerable right now. But Chris, like Arnold, has the gift of making people feel at ease.

‘I try, but I sometimes think I won’t ever manage.’

‘You will,’ Chris says, hugging Kevin before making his way towards the door. As he pulls on his jacket, he looks over his shoulder one more time.

‘Believe me, without you by his side, we’d be probably together for a very different occasion today. That’s the biggest gift you could’ve given him, and he doesn’t even realize.’

When the implication sinks in, Kevin has to hold on to the counter for a moment. It’s the first time in a week that he truly grasps how differently things could’ve gone, and it’s one of the scariest things he can think of. 

After taking a deep breath, he makes for the bedroom, where Connor is half sitting, half lying, nose deep in a book. The scratching of a pencil reveals he’s writing, and apparently so deep in thought he doesn’t notice Kevin coming in and changing

The younger man sliding into bed, leaning up against the headboard, however, makes the redhead perk up. Without prompting, he scoots close, resting his read half on Kevin’s stomach and half in his lap.

A jaw-splitting yawn, followed by a soft sigh, breaks the silence. Kevin can’t help but chuckle and stroke the pale arm closer to him. 

‘How are you doing?’

When the man in question tilts his head back, exposing and accentuating his lean, pale neck, Kevin can’t resist bending down and planting a tender kiss on him. Connor is all to happy to reciprocate, but Kevin notes how he shuts the simple, leather-bound book resting on his legs, before Kevin can make out more than lines and lines of Connor’s neat handwriting.

Secret, then. Personal. For a split second, the thought hurts, but then again, so is therapy, and this is probably part of that whole thing.

‘Fairly well, I guess,’ Connor says, running his hand over Kevin’s chest and into his hair just as the blonde begins to lightly knead his partner’s shoulders.

‘Poptarts helped me find a new therapist, and we complained about the old one. Plus I showed him close to where you proposed, and I bought this.’

With his free hand, he gestures to the simple black book in his lap.

‘Oh?’

‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow… I don’t really want to cry again, because I’m exhausted and don’t want to risk not sleeping tonight. 

‘That’s alright.’

Another kiss, this time planted into auburn strands.

‘As long as you’re happy.’

‘I will be,’ comes the whispered reply.

‘I’m doing my best to get there.’

**Author's Note:**

> So, there we go - part four. I dare say it's looking up, but Connor is still in a bit of a dark place. Good thing he's got an awesome bunch of people around him. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
